


Teeth and Roses.

by allmypanties



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst, Character Death, F/M, Um., sadfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-08
Updated: 2013-01-08
Packaged: 2017-11-24 03:07:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/629671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allmypanties/pseuds/allmypanties
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A quick blirp on Alistair at the last battle of Denerim.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Teeth and Roses.

Denerim smelled of spices and old iron, of stone and sweat and people. 

Not now, of course. Now it smelled of rust and decaying flesh, a smell the Darkspawn seemed to carry with them, as Alistair recalled from Ostagar. 

The merchant's calls were replaced by terrified screams, rare silks splattered with dark, sticky blood. 

Funny. Alistair had always been able to joke his way out of feeling anything. It seemed now to be a silly, childish thing, as all he could feel was a lump of cold fear settled in his throat. 

He was going to lose her. 

It was obvious now. She was the price, and he..he'd been so pigheaded, fought so hard against Morrigans suggestion, taken so long to give her any piece of himself.

He glanced up from his thoughts just in time to dodge a blow to his ribcage, stumbling back with a flail of his arms. 

Time seemed to slow on the battlefield. Every detail was important, every breath.

She was fighting. The Archdemon, against his lady. Seemed testy, the dragon was going against unfair odds, after all. 

She was panting. Hair plastered to her cheek with blood, like he'd seen it with sweat before. Tired. She looked so tired.

Huh. He was running. Funny how adrenaline took over, sometimes. 

"Look, if I never get to say it again.."

Too late. Teeth were ripping through his armour, and he was being shaken. Torn apart. No time to laugh. No time to apologize. No time to fix it. 

But there was enough time to end it. With the last of his strength, he thrust his sword upwards into the dragon's eye, up and into its skull. 

Alistair was no king. He was no great poet. He had no great wit, no gilded tongue, no gift. But he could do this.

She was worth dying for. 

A smile crossed his lips, slumping back into the Archdemon's mouth, the last image in his eyes that of a single rose.


End file.
